The Fortune Teller
by Tap Canfield
Summary: On a winter afternoon in 1937, Peter and Edmund visit a fortune teller, where they hear some strange and disturbing predictions.


THE FORTUNE TELLER

November 1937

The winds of November were harsh that afternoon. Flecks of rain also fluttered in the air, but it was the growling of the skies that offered the most chilling portent. A couple of empty milk bottles and an abandoned petticoat were caught up in the gust, swept through the streets against their will. The bottles made an angry clatter as Mother Nature hustled them against a drain and the atmosphere crackled with silent menace.

It was not an afternoon to be outdoors. Not an afternoon to be away from the comforts of family or the security of a lapping fire in the hearth. 'Twas an afternoon that delighted the devilish and those who had long ago sold their souls.

But in the blissful oblivion of childhood, all this was lost. The boys scampered the streets with carefree abandon, pausing only to ascertain that the other remained in their line of vision. Peter, not quite twelve, maintained a mostly straight trajectory, whereas Edmund, still only seven, darted from left to right, bouncing into puddles, seeming to feed off the energy that exuded from the dark winter afternoon.

For to these little boys, grey, angry afternoons were their very own adventure playground. If the streets were deserted by grown-ups who had fled inside, all the better! The roads and alleys became their kingdom, their private world where their word was law. At times like these, the universe itself seemed given over to them and them alone – with imagination the tool with which to carve out their desires. They did not seem so little any more, they did not even feel human – no, they were something beyond that. They felt as spirits, flitting from one world to the next, or one of those superhero characters from the American comics that could be found in newsagents' across the country. Free and unrestricted, they felt they could overcome anything.

Edmund's feet splashed into another puddle as he paused to wait for his brother. "Having trouble keeping up?" he called back cheekily. "Am I tiring you out?"

The older boy's pace quickened at once, placing him beside his younger sibling in seconds. "Sorry to disappoint you," he said, smiling, "but as you can see, I'm just as fast as ever."

"You were lagging behind," Edmund accused.

"On purpose. I was being kind."

"Hmph." His younger sibling snorted. "One day I'll be as quick as you."

"Of course you will. One day I'll be old and feeble and won't be able to run at all. I shall need my little brother to look after me."

"I'm not so little," Edmund argued.

"To me, you are."

"Lucy's littler."

"Not by much. There's hardly any height difference."

"But she's a _girl_ ," Edmund said, as though that were the end of the matter. "I'm a boy, so I'm bigger and stronger and cleverer and better. Everyone knows that."

Peter grinned. "You _are_ clever. All right, Edmund, I bow down to your wisdom. But you're still my _little_ brother."

Edmund shrugged. "All right. I'm glad I'm one of the younger siblings, actually. Lucy and I were born to keep you and Susan in check."

Peter shook his head, gazing in affection at his brother. "Ed. You really are unique, did you know that?"

"What's unique?"

"It means I don't know anyone else who's quite like you."

"Oh." Edmund thought about this for a moment. "That's good, I suppose." He batted Peter's hand. "Let's not stand around here any longer. Follow me – if you can keep up!"

Chuckling, they resumed their running, prancing through the agitated bluster of the weather. They seemed to be the only people out of doors – in this part of the town, at least – but that mattered not one bit to them; neither could imagine any preferable company than each other. This was how it had always been; from Edmund's infancy, when being placed into Peter's small arms would instantly cease his crying, to Peter's inclination to play with his brother over children of his own age who lived in the street, the Pevensie boys had always gravitated towards one another. They had no reason to think that there would ever be a time when they felt otherwise.

Turning into the next road, the children were broken out of their private inner dominion by the banging and clanking of the local fairground closing its attractions early. Curious, Peter and Edmund stopped to watch a bald gentleman started to pack away his coconut shy, and two ladies began sweeping confectionery jars from their stall. Scenes of a similar nature were happening all over. One man noticed them watching and called across.

"Sorry, boys. Closing early today. Wicked weather."

"I expect they'll be here for a while longer," Peter surmised. "I hope so. It would be fun to go. The four of us should come back here together."

Edmund pointed at one attraction that didn't appear to be being cleared away. A purple tent, with a sign spelling out 'FORTUNE TELLER: IF YE BE BRAVE, STEP THIS WAY' in dark, spidery painted writing. "Do you think it's still open, Peter?"

"Hmmm." Peter narrowed his eyes. "I suppose we could go and see. Why – do you want your fortune told?"

"I wouldn't mind," Edmund admitted. "I find that sort of thing interesting, don't you?"

"Do you believe in it?"

"Do _you_?"

Peter was uncertain. "Mum says fortune tellers are…what's the word..delusional. It means they think they can see into the future, but they really can't. They just _want_ to believe they can, and they're tricking themselves."

"Do you think she's right?" Edmund pressed.

"I don't know. I've never given it a lot of thought."

"Suppose this one _can_ see into the future?" his brother whispered. "Suppose she tells us we're going to be rich, or…or…"

"Or who we're going to marry," Peter suggested.

Edmund fixed him with an exasperated stare. "We're not _going_ to get married. Girls are a waste of time."

"Of course," Peter agreed absently. He frowned at the fortune telling tent. "Are you sure you want to go? It looks a bit…spooky."

"Are you scared?"

"Of course I'm not scared. I just thought you might be."

"I'm not scared either," Edmund decided.

"I suppose we'd better go, then."

"Yes."

"Well, then…"

Neither boy made a move, but just stared at the other.

"What are we waiting for?" Peter wondered. For some reason he felt a sense of foreboding when he looked at the tent, but could not explain why. It was probably all nonsense anyhow.

"I don't know," Edmund said. "I want to go, but my feet won't move."

In truth, Peter _was_ a little scared, but he didn't want Edmund to know that – partly out of pride, but mostly out of worry that if he showed any fear, his brother would become anxious as well. _This was silly. He was going to have to take the lead._ With a determined stomp, he wrenched his leg forward and reached back for Edmund's hand. His little brother's fingers closed into his and, side by side, they made their way to the fortune telling tent.

Up close, the tent appeared even more forbidding. Peter squeezed Edmund's hand tighter and fought the urge to turn back.

"What now?" Edmund asked.

Peter cleared his throat. "Um…hello?" he called uncertainly.

A gravelly, female voice called back. "Who is present?"

"Um…Peter and Edmund. We're brothers."

"You wish to enter?" the voice asked.

Peter looked at Edmund, as if to say _It's up to you._

"Yes," Edmund responded. "We do."

"I give you warning," the voice returned, "once you have entered this tent, there is no going back. Your fortune will hang in the mists and be discernible to all eyes trained to read it. I cannot promise that you will enjoy what you hear. That all depends upon what is revealed to me. I may render unto you tales of the most glorious happiness, or a message of approaching horrors. You sound like you are children. I tell you now, this may not be pleasant. Only the bold should venture into this lair."

Peter shuddered. He had found the woman's little speech to be immensely creepy, but at the same time, his curiosity was aroused. He glanced at Edmund again.

"I think I want to hear it," his brother told him. "Whatever it is."

Peter nodded. "All right." He addressed the voice in the tent. "We're coming in!"

The brothers entered and immediately found themselves in a darkened environment, lit only by a small oil lamp resting on the table before them. The table was covered in a furry grey blanket which was also home to a crystal ball, which glowed in the darkness like a suspicious eye. A couple of wooden chairs were placed at their side of the table, whilst on the other side was a large, mauve-cushioned seat. Across the far corner hung an emerald green curtain. But there wasn't a person in sight.

"Peter," Edmund said in a small voice, "I think I'm scared now."

Peter gripped his shoulder. "I am too, Ed. I am too."

"You do well to be scared," announced their companion, emerging from behind the curtain. Peter and Edmund both jumped, but tried to regain their composure as they took in this addition. The lady had long, wavy black hair which added to her air of mystery. A lighted cigarette was clamped between her lips. Her eyes – also dark – seemed to glitter, but with what kind of emotion, Peter and Edmund couldn't tell. As her gaze met his, Edmund's body felt seized by tension. This was not out of anything directly unfriendly from the woman, but more from the sense that her eyes could somehow penetrate into his mind.

 _Can fortune tellers also read minds?_ he asked himself. _Perhaps this one can._

Finally, she spoke. "You are both young."

"I'm almost twelve," Peter defended.

"Not until January."

Peter blinked. _How did she know that? It must have been a guess._

"And twelve is still young," she continued, advancing towards them. She gestured to Edmund. "This one, this one is tiny. Do you understand where you are, my boy?"

"Yes…Mrs…" Edmund faltered.

"You may call me Madame Belzamine," the lady told them. "That is what most people call me. It is what my own sister calls me."

"Is she here too, your sister?" Peter asked her.

"She is dead," Madame Belzamine said sharply.

Peter was confused. "Then how does she talk…"

"My dear boy." Madame Belzamine regarded him in a way that was not impatient. "Surely you don't believe that when a person dies they cease to be able to communicate? She speaks, and I listen. We have an excellent relationship."

Edmund looked excited. "You mean she's a ghost?"

"I prefer not to use that term," Madame Belzamine replied, "but if that's the way you understand it, then, yes, you might say that she is a 'ghost'."

Edmund peered around the tent, as though expecting to see an apparition. Peter wondered if they should leave, but found that he was somehow unable to do so. Just as before, when his feet had seemed rooted to the spot, they once again felt stuck in place – and he himself was not sure that he wanted to leave either. Although the tent felt eerie, he did not feel that Madame Belzamine herself was malicious or threatening. On the contrary, he rather had the impression that she was concerned for them.

"It is a bad day," Madame Belzamine declared. "Boys as small as you ought not to be out by themselves."

"I've seen worse weather," Peter told her. "We're hardy fellows. We're all right."

"I'm not talking about the weather," she hissed, placing herself in the seat behind the table. "I mean the day. There is cruelty about. 'Tis the day of the demons."

 _What_ is _she talking about?_ Peter thought.

"I am talking about the darker forces of the supernatural," she snapped, and Peter gave a jolt. _It was as though she'd heard him think…but she couldn't have done. Could she?_

"Madame Belzamine," Edmund said suddenly, "I think you're a very strange person."

"Edmund!" cried Peter, though in truth, he agreed. "You can't come out and tell people things like that."

But Madame Belzamine did not appear to be offended. She peered at Edmund unblinkingly. "Do you, tiny one?"

"I do," Edmund maintained. "But that's all right. I like strange people." He stepped closer, towards one of the chairs. "I sometimes feel like I'm a strange person myself."

Peter tried to lighten the mood. "Well, you're _different_ , Ed…"

"Hush now," the fortune teller commanded. "You boys came here to have your fortunes told. I am not altogether certain about conveying the art to two people as young as yourselves, but you are here and as I said, there is no turning back. In truth, it is better that you take refuge in here than continue to expose yourself to the villainy of the outside world. All the same, I shan't feel comfortable until the two of you are safely at home…"

Peter fumbled in his pocket for some change. "How much do I owe you…" he began.

"You are children," Madame Belzamine retorted. "I do not charge children." She narrowed her eyes and Peter was left with the feeling that he had offended her. "What sort of a person do you think I am?"

Edmund spoke quietly, respectfully. "You're powerful. Aren't you?"

Madame Belzamine nodded. "You are younger, you can tell." She nodded at Peter. "This one isn't sure. Are you?"

Peter shuffled his feet. "Our mother says that fortune telling is all in the imagination."

"Does she, now?" The lady sounded amused. "What if I were to tell you, young man, that there is not one bit of difference between what we term 'real' and what we term 'imaginary'." At his lack of response, she pressed further. "Tell me, elder brother Peter. What is your response to that?"

"Um…it doesn't sound very logical, Madame Belzamine."

"Logic!" She uttered the word as though it were a curse. "Logic! Always logic…very well: but tell me this: does it sound right to the _heart_?"

Peter considered. "I…I think it does," he admitted.

"And little brother Edmund?" Madame Belzamine switched to the smaller child, who had been watching this exchange with a furrowed brow. "What say you?"

"I think," Edmund said carefully, "that logic tells us some truths and the imagination tells us others. I don't think that imagination and reality have to be opposites."

She nodded, satisfied. "Well said. Are you both ready to hear what I tell you?"

"Yes." Edmund spoke quickly, breathlessly. Peter nodded.

"Very well. Please take a seat."

The boys sat down. Madame Belzamine's dark eyes bored into them like knives.

Moments of silence passed. Edmund listened to the rain spattering softly against the tent, heard the ever present howling of the wind, and thought back to the fortune teller's claim that today was the day of the demons. From here, it was hard to doubt her. Although excited, he was glad that Peter was with him. He wasn't sure he would have had the nerve to go through with this if it were not for the security of his big brother.

Peter, for his part, was growing impatient. Madame Belzamine kept staring at them, but it now seemed that her gaze was going straight through them, into realms unknown. The oil lamp was casting shadows across the tent, shadows that bobbed about like sinister spectres. He supposed that this atmosphere was all concocted to entertain the customers, and he had to admit it was very successful – too much so, in fact. He wanted to get out, yet found himself afraid of what lay beyond. _Day of the demons…villainy of the outside world…_ what did Madame Belzamine know that they didn't?

After several more minutes of silence, he chanced a question. "Madame Belzamine…um…how much longer…?"

"Shhhh!" she bristled, waving her hands. "Quiet, my boy. Let me steady my mind. These arcane arts take work."

They returned to waiting. After perhaps two or three more minutes, Madame Belzamine broke into a chant, her voice loud, yet distant, within the tent, but beyond time and space.

"O Spirits of Light and Darkness

Beings of Fire and Ice,

Bringers of Knowledge

Prometheans of the Underworld

Draw closer in this moment

And extend your mind's tentacles

To the pages of the air.

Grant me the Sight

That I may read from the scrolls of your wisdom

And pass along what may be

Foul or fair

Common or rare.

And bring with you your protection

O Creatures of the Aether

That we may ponder your news in peace

Amidst the Strength of the All."

As she delivered the final word, Peter felt a hand placed upon his shoulder. Half crying out, he jerked his head around, but there was no one else present. As he uneasily turned back to face Madame Belzamine, he noticed that he could no longer hear any sounds from outside, sounds that had been encroaching on the calm of the tent just a few seconds ago. The noise of the wind had vanished, the splashes of the rain…

"Peter," Edmund mumbled, "there's someone sitting by my side."

Peter looked, but as with the sensation of the hand on his shoulder, there was nothing to be seen. "It's just your imagination, Edmund," he said, trying to convince himself as much as his brother.

"Madame Belzamine said there wasn't any difference between imagination and reality."

 _Madame Belzamine is crazy,_ Peter wanted to say, but he couldn't – not because the woman herself was right there in front of them, but because he wasn't sure he _did_ believe she was crazy, not by the way her words seemed to make an odd sort of sense, or from the strange phenomena he had just experienced.

"It is here," the fortune teller announced. "They have responded. I shall deliver what they allow me to see, children. I will do my best to be accurate, but I do not guarantee that anything I tell you will definitely come to pass. However, the spirits have yet to steer me wrong…Peter Pevensie."

Peter sat up straight. _How did she know their surname?_

"I see a period of discord coming upon you, a period of discord and uncertainty. You will still be young and you may not understand how best to deal with a situation that seems thrown upon you."

Peter felt himself squirm. _This didn't sound good._ He still wasn't sure if he thought fortune telling was real or not (though he was a lot more inclined to believe it now than he had before they entered the tent) but he could only hope that Madame Belzamine really _was_ a deluded old woman. He didn't want a future of discord and uncertainty.

"I said you might not like what I had to tell you," the lady reminded him, and Peter was again struck with the thought that she seemed to have read what he was thinking. "There will be difficulties ahead, and I foresee that you will be separated from your parents." She hesitated. "There is great, great danger in your path, and I sense that it is brought upon by one who is close to you."

Peter could barely find his voice. "Who?"

"That I do not know," she admitted. "I cannot make out…the spirits will not let me…but it is one who loves you. And you love them."

"I don't believe it," Peter said, trying to be firm. "No one I love could ever put me in harm's way."

Madame Belzamine glared at him. "You are unwise to contradict the spirits, child. They know more than you do. Grown men have been sent to their deaths because they did not heed the warnings of the angels. Shall I finish?"

"Is there anything more about me?"

She frowned. "With the great danger, there will come leadership. Leadership both from yourself, and something other than yourself. You, Peter, will be placed in charge of hundreds…thousands…it is a position of great responsibility. Yes, Master Pevensie, leadership – throughout the ugliness of threats – and a strong determination. That is most definitely in store."

She turned to his brother. "Your turn, Young Edmund."

Edmund leaned forward, his breathing fast and heavy. "Tell me. I can bear it." All the same, he reached for Peter's hand.

The fortune teller reflected for a few moments. "Oh dear. There is sadness. An enormous sadness approaching you, child, a sadness so heavy that I feel it plucking at my heart. Your future shall not be an easy one, my dear. As with your older brother, I also see discord coming your way, and something…something else…it is as though you disappear, little one."

Edmund swallowed. "Do you mean I die?"

"Of course you don't die!" Peter burst out. "Don't listen to her, Edmund, she's just…"

"SHUSH, child!" barked Madame Belzamine. "Do not interfere with the work. You do an injustice to us all."

"But you can't just sit there and tell my brother…look how little he is…you're scaring him!"

"Peter," Edmund said softly, placing his hand upon his arm and stroking it. "It's all right. _I'm_ all right. I want to hear this."

Peter stared at him, incredulous. "But Edmund…"

"Peter. Please."

He stood defeated. "All right, Ed."

"You do not die, Edmund Pevensie," Madame Belzamine explained. "That is not what I am given. I see a disappearance, as though you are somehow supplanted…but you exist, child, you always exist. But there is something you must fight. Within yourself. Something you _will_ fight, but I cannot tell if you will do so in time. Beware of yourself, little Edmund, and remember to stay true to who you are."

"I don't know if I understand," Edmund said miserably.

"You don't need to understand," she told him gently. "Just remember." As the little boy took this in, the older lady gave a sudden screech of horror, and sat back violently in her chair. Her skin seemed to stretch back in revulsion. Peter and Edmund regarded her with wide, fearful eyes, and Peter instinctively pulled his brother close – as much for his own comfort as Edmund's.

"Oh dear," the fortune teller muttered, and Edmund noticed that she was trembling. "Oh, my dear boy. My poor, dear boy. Why him? Why one so small?"

Peter and Edmund strained their ears, half expecting some disembodied voice to provide an answer. But none came, at least none that they could perceive.

"Forgive me, young one." Madame Belzamine had returned to herself again. "I had quite a shock there, and that rarely happens…I must resume, Edmund, and make sure you both listen carefully. My little child, I have told your brother that he will face a grave danger, and that is true. But you, my dear – you will come face to face with evil itself!"

She spat out this last sentence in a dramatic choking hiss. Peter squeezed Edmund against his chest even more tightly. _I should never have brought Edmund here,_ he thought unhappily. _He shouldn't have to hear these things._

Edmund's face was flushed and his forehead glistened with sweat. Swallowing, he asked – quite steadily, Peter observed, with a mixture of pride and astonishment – "And what is it, this evil that I shall meet?"

"I know not," Madame Belzamine murmured, shaking her head. Her tone was filled with the fear of one who has seen an indescribable terror. "The spirits provide…I read. But oh! boys, it is a vivid and dominating evil that the little one will face. You will be sucked into a web of nightmares, my child, and I cannot say how you will come through it."

"Will Peter be there?"

"No," Madame Belzamine answered. "He will not be."

Edmund nodded, seeming to understand. "I'll be alone."

"You and the forces of evil," the fortune teller agreed.

The younger Pevensie's tone was eerily calm and accepting. "Then I'll have to rely on myself."

"Yes," Madame Belzamine said slowly, "though I sense that there will be help…and though it may appear that you are lost to the darkness, I am shown a pinprick of light. I see you wavering, Edmund, between the dark and the light, and I cannot tell which way you will go. But the possibility is there…there need not necessarily be disaster…if only you can…"

"If only I can what?" Edmund whispered.

"Stay true to who you are," the lady advised him. "You will not recognise this evil when first you meet it. It is very good at disguising itself and giving the appearance of benevolence."

"Is there any way I can avoid it?" Edmund wanted to know.

"No, little one. It is set before you like the sands of time. The information is fading now, boys – I cannot give you much more. I can only repeat – stay true to who you are, Edmund. And Peter? Do two things. Do not forget that you are a brother and do not forget who your brother is."

 _Ridiculous,_ Peter thought angrily. _How could he forget that Edmund was his brother?_

"Remember what I am saying," she insisted. "You think it ridiculous? There may come a time when you change your mind. Set it in your memory for now."

"All right – all right!" Peter held his hands up. "I'll do as you say, Madame Belzamine."

"I will too," Edmund promised. "I'll remember what you said. I don't know what it means – but I know it means _something._ And I know it's important."

She nodded. "You are wise, little one. You are a natural believer. Try not to let that be removed from you." She looked at Peter. "You are a natural believer too. You wish to doubt, and you try to do so, but there is that part of you that knows the truth of what I am saying."

Peter shivered. She had an uncanny way of being just right about him.

"I think we are done for now," Madame Belzamine told them, "and unwilling though I am to send you on your way, it is time for me to take my leave for the evening. This world is draining…the demons are still about outside, but fear not: I shall send you with protection."

She placed one hand upon Peter's head and the other upon Edmund's. They heard her mutter several words, and Peter thought he heard the word "Adonai". When she removed her hands, he was surprised to find that he felt as though a wall of cement had surrounded him. If there _were_ demons about, he certainly felt protected.

Edmund gave a tiny giggle. "I feel like I'm wrapped in a ball of fluff!"

"Take care, brothers," Madame Belzamine murmured. "We may see each other again. I rather hope we do. Be brave. Be kind. And remember your hearts."

Peter stood up. "Well…thank you, Madame Belzamine," he said. He wasn't sure that he felt especially thankful, but the lady was clearly genuine and really appeared to want to help them. "I certainly won't forget today."

"Nor me," Edmund added. "Madame Belzamine – may I give you a kiss?"

Peter gave a start. It was most unlike Edmund to kiss a stranger.

The fortune teller nodded. "Come here, little one."

Peter watched as his brother crawled into her lap and gave Madame Belzamine a soft kiss on the cheek. For a few seconds, the lady clutched him to her, as if afraid to let him go, but then her grip softened and the boy hopped onto the floor and returned to his sibling's side.

"Goodbye, Madame Belzamine," he said gravely, taking Peter's hand. "I hope we _do_ see you again."

"Goodbye, boys," Madame Belzamine's voice drifted out as they exited the tent. "Stay true to yourself. Remember your hearts!"

Neither of them spoke as they made their way home. The wind's whistling filled the air, and the rain fell down more aggressively, but they barely noticed. They remained hand in hand, however, Edmund's warmth bringing solace to Peter's unease and Peter's strength bringing repose to Edmund's anxiety.

Their surroundings seemed far away. Madame Belzamine and her tent had filled their minds, and they thought of nothing but her and her strange words on their walk home. They barely heard their mother scold them for getting wet and send them upstairs to get changed. They marched blankly up the stairs, as though hypnotised. It was only in the familiarity of their bedroom that their strange trance left them.

"Well," Peter said lightly, though his tone was the opposite of what he felt, "that was quite something, wasn't it?"

Edmund sat on his bed, but didn't answer him.

"I wouldn't put any stock in what she said," Peter went on, though he didn't really have confidence in what he was saying – he just wanted to make sure that his brother felt better. "I know she believed she could see into our futures, but she's probably just a harmless crackpot. We needn't worry about…"

"She is _not_ a harmless crackpot," Edmund spat, and Peter jumped back at the viciousness of his tone. "She has powers. She saw into your future and mine."

"Edmund! You heard what she said. It's impossible!"

"How do you explain all the strange things that happened, then? Madame Belzamine knew what we were thinking. She could read our minds!"

"Lucky guesses," Peter said feebly, but it was no good. He had no faith in his explanations, and Edmund could tell.

"You know as well as I do that she looked into the future," the little boy told him, pointing an accusatory finger at his brother. "Why are you trying to deny it?"

Peter was aghast. "Ed…why are you so angry?"

His brother paused. "I'm sorry. I'm not angry with you, Peter. I – I'm just frightened, I suppose."

"Because of _her_." Peter clenched his fists.

"This evil that I'm to face – what if I'm not strong enough to win out against it?"

Peter was beside his brother in a moment. His arm fell around Edmund's shoulders and he placed a kiss to the boy's head. "Edmund. Listen to me. I don't know what she meant, but…you can face it. Whatever is in store for you, you can face it and beat it. I have faith in you."

"I don't know." Edmund's dark eyes were full of uncertainty as they found his brother's. "She seemed really scared. If someone as powerful as Madame Belzamine could be frightened, then how can I…"

"I have faith in you, Ed. And I'll be alongside you every step of the way."

"But that's just it," Edmund wailed, his voice cracking. "She said you _wouldn't_ be there."

"Well…all right. But even if I'm not, you can be sure I'll do all I can to make sure you're safe."

A tear escaped from Edmund's eye, then another. In response, Peter fairly crushed the boy in a hug.

Edmund's voice was muffled. "I was just going to ask if I could hug you."

"You never have to ask, Edmund. Just do it."

The younger boy's arms stroked Peter's back. "Thank you, Peter."

Several minutes later, as they drew apart, and Peter mopped at the tears that were threatening to jump from his own eyes, Edmund stood and went to the window.

"I think I know what she meant when she said it was the day of the demons," he observed solemnly. He turned to his brother, pale and worried. "I feel funny, Peter."

"You mean, ill?"

"No. Just…uncomfortable."

"You're upset by what Madame Belzamine told you. Try to forget it."

"No," Edmund murmured. "We're not to forget. She told us that." He walked back to Peter and touched his arm. "What about you? She didn't give you the happiest of fortunes either. She said you'd be in danger."

Peter had been trying to forget that. "Oh…well…there's no sense worrying about it now, Ed."

"She said you'd be in danger," Edmund repeated, talking more to himself, "and she said it would be because of someone you loved."

"And someone who loved me," Peter added.

Edmund slammed his fist against the bedrail. "I don't know what means!"

"It just proves she's a crazy old bat," Peter argued, willing himself to believe it were so. "Nobody who loves me would put me in danger."

Edmund ignored this. "I wonder who it is? The someone who puts you in danger." His eyes lit up with a savage comprehension. "I bet it's either Susan or Lucy. It would be just like girls to do something stupid and get you into trouble."

Peter had to smile. "If you say so, Edmund."

"And I shall have to come and save you. Brave Sir Edmund."

Peter idly stroked his hair. "Noble Edmund, best of the knights. Do you feel better yet?"

The younger boy frowned. "I'm scared of the evil that she told me is going to come. I'm scared of facing it, and I think I'm even more scared that I don't know what it is, or that I won't even _know_ it's evil when I see it. I wonder why it's coming to _me_ …" He bit his lip. "I – I feel different to other people, Peter."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know!" his brother burst out. "I'm just…not like you and the girls, for instance."

"That's rubbish, Edmund. You're one of us and you always will be."

"I didn't say I wasn't one of you. I said I wasn't _like_ you. You and Susan are so big and sensible and Lucy's so happy…"

"Are you saying you're _not_ happy?" Peter's voice shook.

"Not as happy as Lucy always seems to be."

"Edmund, darling…we can't all be cheerful little cherubs. So you're a bit more serious than we are. So what?"

"I think more than the other children at school."

"That just means you're intelligent."

"I'm still different. Is _that_ why evil's coming to me?"

"Edmund. Ed, listen to me." Peter had wrapped the boy close again. "None of us care how different you are or aren't. We all love you the way you are. You know that."

Edmund sank into his brother's body for the second time.

"Going to see Madame Belzamine was a mistake," Peter decided. "You're so upset…let's not go near that fair again, Edmund."

"It won't matter," Edmund said in a faraway voice. "She won't be there again, anyway."

Peter was puzzled. "What?"

"If we see her again, it will be when we're meant to. And there won't be anything we can do about it." Edmund blinked and shook his head. "What did I mean by all of that?"

"I think you're just confused, Edmund. We were too young to have our fortunes told – you, especially."

His brother sighed. "I suppose I'll just have to accept what she said for now. Maybe I should try to think about other things. I don't _feel_ like there's evil around me."

"There probably won't ever be."

"Let's not tell anyone that we had our fortunes told, Peter."

"No," Peter agreed. "It will be our secret, just you and I."

Edmund nodded. "I think I'd like to go to bed now."

"Without any supper? Mum will think you're ill."

"Just tell her I'm tired," Edmund said, and again, his voice had taken on a distance. He crawled into his bed and allowed Peter to draw up the covers around him. "Leave the light on, won't you?"

Peter gave him another kiss. "All right. I'll make sure there's some food left for you if you change your mind."

As he stepped through the doorway, he glanced back at his younger brother, and saw that Edmund's dark eyes were fastened upon the ceiling with an intensity that Peter found unsettling. It was as though the boy was braving himself, preparing himself, for a terror that he and he alone would bear.

As Peter closed the bedroom door, he found himself offering a silent prayer that on this night of all nights, Edmund would find his peace.


End file.
